


The House On Warner Hill

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Mark has never been one for parties, but when he's invited to the enigmatic house on Warner Hill for one of Sean McLoughlin's legendary house parties, he learns a thing or two about the house, his own feelings, and the party king himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House On Warner Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Fun, fun. This story was fun. 
> 
> It was really fun to write. And fun to experiment with Mark's perspective instead of Jack. Also the hardcore crushing is so real in this fic. It’s great.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Mark, you _have_ to come with us this time.”

Mark scrubbed his fingers over his face. “No. C'mon, Wade, you know I _hate_ parties. They're full of loud people and drunk people—who, on their own are manageable, but together? Talk about headaches.”

His best friend rolled his eyes. “In all of our years together, when have I ever made you do something that you didn't want to do, and it turned out terrible?”

“Well there was that one time on the swings,” Mark deadpanned. “And then the time with the tree, and the snow on the roof, and that time with the baseball bats--” 

“Besides that!” Wade held up his hands, cutting his stream of memories off. “I'm serious, Mark. You can't go through college without going to at least one of Sean McLoughlin's house parties. They are practically _legendary_. Not to mention fun as all hell. The Irish really know how to throw 'em.”

Mark flopped back against his bed. This was an age old argument. Wade was constantly trying to get Mark to branch out a little bit, make some other friends rather than just him and Bob—but Mark always insisted that he was fine having just a few friends. And he was. Mark Fischbach wasn't the party type—that's all there was to it. So there was no way he was going to Sean McLoughlin's house party. That was that.

“I'm not going,” Mark said, leaving no room for argument. “I don't want to. I'd be uncomfortable, and I'd make everyone I talked to miserable. Really, it's a waste of time and energy for me.”

Wade groaned in exasperation. “Just this once, Mark. Okay? If you hate it, I'll never make you go again. On my honor. So please, just come to this one. You can leave early if it gets that bad. But just give it a try, will you?”

Mark stared for a moment, willing himself to say no. But this was the easiest way to get himself out of the situation. It was a house party—it would go on for hours. Wade had offered to let him leave early if he was uncomfortable, which he likely would be right at the start. He could get in, stay for half an hour, and leave to the safety of his apartment, where he could turn on some Netflix. They had recently put out all of the episodes of Bill Nye...

“Mark?” Wade interrupted his thoughts. “Mark. Is it a yes or a no, buddy?”

He sighed, resigned. “Alright, alright. I'll go. But just this once. And the minute I get uncomfortable, I'm out. You can hitch a ride back with someone else.”

“Fine!” Wade was beaming, seemingly pleased with the turn of events. He probably thought he'd have to go through way more persuading. Perhaps Mark should have drawn it out a little longer, but oh well. “That's fine. This is great. You're gonna have a great time.” 

“I doubt it,” Mark commented dryly. “Wade, are you forgetting that almost no one knows who I am? If anything, I'm just gonna get a lot of drunk people asking me “who?” every chance they get.” 

Wade raised a curious brow. “Really? I mean, yeah, you don't branch out a lot, but I thought you were pretty well known, at least in your department. Everyone goes to McLoughlin's, Mark, it's like a staple for college life. But really, are you sure you're unknown? I mean, McLoughlin invited you personally, remember?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Oh,” Wade said. “Guess I never told you. Yeah, I had him come to me a little while back. Said he was having this party, and he asked if I'd bring you along. Didn't know you two were tight?”

Mark swallowed. Sean McLoughlin asked for him? That seemed unlikely. Wade had to have been joking with him. Sean McLoughlin was a tad out of his ballpark, their social circles drastically different. They had exchanged a handful of words over the course of their college lives—but that was it. They were the exact opposite of tight. 

“We're not?” it was a question rather than a statement. “I hardly know him.”

“Guess he has a crush on you, then,” Wade commented. “It's no big deal. Anyway, we'll leave tomorrow at 8, then? McLoughlin lives about twenty minutes from here, the house on Warner Hill.”

Mark stared. “You mean _the_ house on Warner Hill? The huge one that hardly ever looks like it's occupied? _That_ house? The one we've been freaked out about since we were fifteen?”

“Yeah,” Wade said. “That's the one. Figured that out, by the way. All of Sean's siblings have moved out—he's got four of them, which is why the house is so big. And his parents are almost always away on business, so it's only ever him in the house, and he's usually at class, hence why it's so quiet. Nothing creepy like we thought it was.”

“Shame,” Mark replied. “I was looking forward to ghost hunting there.”

Wade rolled his eyes, and the two share a pretty good laugh.

~~

“I'm uncomfortable,” Mark said. “Take me home.”

Wade turned off the engine. “Mark, we haven't even gotten inside the house yet. How can you be uncomfortable?”

“I hear loud music with the doors shut, I know the minute I step out of this car, I'm going to smell alcohol, which I hate, and probably cigarette smoke. Or weed. One of the two. Jesus. Why did I agree to this?”

“Stop being such a _baby_ ,” his friend complained, opening the door to step out. He tossed him the keys. “But here. Come inside with me, and if you hate it, you can leave without having to ask me for the keys, okay?”

Mark groaned but caught the keys, stepping out of the car. He slammed the door and could hear the music playing even louder now that he was outside, and damn, couldn't they turn it down a little lower? Although, as he glanced around, there were no other houses in sight, the house the sole ruler of the hill. 

Great.

Wade strolled up to the door and gave the doorbell a good ring, and before long the door opened, revealing someone Mark didn't know, but apparently Wade did. The two exchanged a high five, a “glad you could make it!” and as Wade was pulled inside, Mark ducked in after him. 

As expected, the minute Mark walked through the door, he smelled alcohol, cheap perfume, and some sort of smoke that was quite flavorful, actually. A quick glance revealed those electronic cigarettes, reminding him of the little pipe that the caterpillar had in Alice in Wonderland. Despite the sweet smell, he had a feeling they still had nicotine in them, given the way everyone seemed to be inhaling nonstop. 

Mark stood by the door awkwardly. What was he supposed to do here? His eyes surveyed the area, but he recognized literally no one. Well, perhaps some people looked familiar, just in the face. But nobody concrete enough to actually sit down and talk to. 

He was wholly out of his element. This was not his scene. But he knew if he booked it now, Wade would never let him hear the end of it, and likely try to coerce him into coming again, or to someone else's party, because he didn't “fully experience it.” 

Maybe some water would cool his nerves. Yeah, that sounded good. Mark wove his way through the people, some seemingly hammered, some blinking slowly as if they were high. Great. That was great. That was fine.

He made a beeline for the kitchen, but ended up running face first into someone on the way. A loud swear emitted from the other, and Mark stumbled back. 

“Oh, shit, I'm sorry!” Mark yelled over the roar of the music. “Sorry!” 

His words fell short when he met the other's eyes. They were a bright blue, staring intently, before recognition flashed across them. He broke out into a wide grin.

It was no other than the party king himself, Sean McLoughlin.

“Mark!” he exclaimed. “Hey, man! I'm glad you could make it!” 

In his hand was a red cup, half full with some sort of liquid. Sean offered him the cup. “Want a sip?” 

“I don't drink,” Mark told him, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Sean laughed. “It's coke, man! I don't drink much myself, I just get it for everyone else. I'll let you in on a secret, 'kay?”

He stepped closer, totally invading his space. Mark hadn't realized they were nearly the same height, as Sean leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over his ear, “I'm a bit of a lightweight. Don't tell anyone! It'll ruin my reputation as an Irishman!” 

He practically screamed the words in his ear, and Mark thought it would be pretty hard for it to be a secret, now. But as he looked around, no one seemed to be paying attention, plus the music drowned out practically any conversation. Seriously, where was it playing from? And really, why was Sean telling him this anyway?

Sean took a swig of the drink, then tilted his head at Mark, as if noticing the way he didn't seem to be enjoying himself at all. “Hey, are you okay man?”

“This isn't really my scene, sorry!” Mark felt the need to apologize. “I'm thinking that I should leave, you know? Nothing against you, though!”

“I get it!” Sean replied. “Is it the noise?”

_Partially_ , Mark thought. But instead of listing off all the other reasons, he nodded. Sean hummed in understanding.

“Well, if you want,” he started. “You can come upstairs with me! I need a bit of a breather myself, and the bedroom is _way_ quieter than down here, I promise!”

The promise of some quiet already had Mark agreeing to it. Before long, he was weaving through the people again, following Sean up the stairs, gripping the railing. The hallway on the second floor held a few people still, but they all remained relatively quiet, or were sucking face with other people. Great.

Sean ducked into the bedroom at the end of the hall, urging Mark to follow him. He did so, and Sean closed the door. Mark heard almost nothing of the music downstairs, and sighed happily.

“I used to play the drums,” Sean said, sitting down on his bed. “Parents decided it would be best if I had a room at the end of the hall, with some soundproof walls.”

He gestured for Mark to sit next to him. Deciding it would be good to be polite, he took an awkward seat next to him. Sean set his cup on his nightstand, folding his legs and facing him. He gave Mark a look, and Mark shucked off his shoes, sitting the same way to face him. Sean grinned.

“I'm glad you finally showed up,” Sean said. “I keep seein' you around, and I thought it'd be cool to finally hang out, you know? Sorry if I came off a little forward downstairs--”

“Nah, it's okay, Sean,” Mark replied. “Honestly, you kind of saved me down there. Was seriously thinking about bailing.”

Sean made a face, his nose scrunching slightly. Mark wondered what he'd said when Sean said, “Jack, please. Sean is what my parents call me.” 

“Jack,” Mark corrected himself. “But, really. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Jack waved him off. “Really, I understand. Sometimes I gotta take a breather, too. It's my house, remember? I'm so used to it being empty that I have to hide up here, just to calm myself down.”

“Yeah, this house has always been really empty,” Mark commented lightly, breathing out a soft sigh. “When I was younger, I used to think it was haunted.”

“What?” Jack laughed, and Mark found that his laugh was actually sort of...cute. It made him smile. “Haunted? Why the fuck would you think that?”

Any nerves he had slowly melted away. He shrugged. “It was always so quiet. You gotta look at it from the outside. Like, it's the only house on this big hill. No cars in the driveway, never any lights on, all the curtains drawn—never any semblance of life.”

“Lots of people's houses are like that,” Jack replied. “What makes mine any different?” 

Mark held up his hands in defense. “I've never seen another house nearby that does that! All of them at _least_ have cars out front. You don't even have that!”

“They're in the garage in the back!” he retorted. “What, am I supposed to just leave it out front for anyone to break into?”

“Yes!”

Jack couldn't hold back his string of laughter at that. Mark found himself laughing with him as Jack whistled, “That's so stupid!” 

The two shared a long hearty laugh for another few minutes, before Mark finally wiped at his eyes. “No, but. Even if I thought it was haunted, it's always been really cool for me too, actually.”

“It's just a house,” Jack quipped. “How could it be cool?”

“Well, I...” Mark trailed off. “Never mind. You'll think _I'm_ stupid.”

Jack nudged him. “Nah, nah! Tell me!” 

Mark felt a weird sense of intimacy at the gesture, as if they were long time friends. Actually, the whole atmosphere around them made it feel like they were long time friends. Sitting on the bed together, talking and laughing...and somehow, Mark found that he didn't mind. 

He didn't mind so much that he actually told him. “I'm...I've wanted to write a story about this house. It always inspired me. Whenever I passed it, I thought it'd be a great setting for a suspense story...”

Jack's eyes lit up. “What, you're a writer? Seriously?”

It wasn't a condescending tone, or even a joking one. He sounded genuinely interested in it. Mark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah...it's um...my major is biomedical, but my secret passion is writing. I've always found comfort in it. I've written tons of short stories, no one's ever seen them, though...”

“Dude!” Jack's grin widened. “Dude, that's awesome! You have to show me!” 

Mark held up his hands. “Woah, woah! I don't even have a story for it! You can't read what I haven't written!”

“Then get writing!” the Irishman demanded. “I can't believe this boring old house would ever inspire anybody...”

He looked away. “You don't even know if my writing's good...”

“You kidding?” Jack exclaimed. “You're Mark Fischbach, of _course_ it's good!”

Mark raised a brow. “What does my name have to do with anything?”

Jack shrugged. “Dude. Your name is everywhere in the school. I'm not even in your department and people talk about you all the time. You're just like... _the_ guy, you know what I mean? But anyway, I mean, you just seem like you're really into writing, and I've always felt like if you love something, it comes out really good.”

“I guess so...”

He beamed. “But dude. Seriously. Tell me what you've got planned for the story! I want to know everything. Oh, maybe I can tell you some weird things about this house? 'Cause I mean, there's a lot. Like, on the night of full moons, if you go on the back porch, the moon illuminates the whole deck, and it's like it's daylight, not even kidding. It's amazing. And we have a basement that weird gurgling sounds come from at night. And also--” 

Mark held up his hands, laughing. “Slow down! I'm not going to remember all that! But I've never really shared my writing stuff with anyone before...”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack grew quiet for a moment, then, “Well. I mean. Might be cool to share with a stranger, right? I have to interpret your stuff based on exactly what you give me. I dunno how your head works so I can't pretend like I know—you know what I mean?”

Mark tilted his head thoughtfully. It did make some sense. And perhaps he did owe a little bit of information to Jack, considering he did stalk his house a bit...

He tried to repress the memory, but Mark remembered way too clearly his fifteen year old escapades. A few weeks after he's first discovered the house, he'd walked all the way down to the house in the middle of the night—a very dumb idea, he reminded himself—to scope out the place, and take a few pictures. The place had looked just as creepy at night as it had in the day, and it was just as quiet. Still no cars. Still no lights. Still no noise. It had been terrifying, and Mark had been so spooked by the place he ended up leaving without anything, but a boatload of inspiration, somehow. 

Mostly because he could have sworn as it a kid, he heard footsteps inside the house. 

“Mark?” Jack interrupted his thoughts. “Mark! Earth to Mark, what's goin' on in there?”

Mark blinked, and Jack was really close to him, snapping his fingers in front of his face. He jerked back, and the Irishman tossed his head back, giggling, obviously amused by his startled reaction. 

“I was just...thinking,” Mark said slowly. “Say, Jack, how long have you been living on your own? Like, without a babysitter or anything?”

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hm. Probably...since I was fourteen? Well, when I was fourteen, my sister was about seventeen, but she was like never home 'cause she was doing this study abroad thing...so yeah, fourteen. Why?”

He almost laughed. Perhaps the noise had been Jack. He grinned, and that seemed to make the other only happier. Mark said, “No reason. But um...here. So, when I first saw the house, I was angry that it looked so empty, because it was so big and I thought it should be full of life, you know?”

“I feel that, it's always too quiet for me,” Jack said. “Hence why I got kind of party crazy when I started college. Filled some of the void.” 

Mark nodded. “So, my brother told me, if it bothers you so much—write about it. That way it stops bothering me and the house has a purpose. But I never really did, because I got swept up in other things. But I had all these ideas constantly in the back of my mind.”

“Go on...” the Irishman drawled, clearly interested. 

His nerves were starting to kick in again. He tried to line up in his head what he wanted to say, and he met Jack's eyes. They were a surprisingly pretty shade of blue, and somehow, it calmed him. Jack seemed so genuine in his interest, as if he were actually listening. It was oddly encouraging.

“I imagined these two kids—genders undecided, figured I'd work on that later, but they end up seeing this old, abandoned house, right? And of course, being kids, they think, let's go into it! So they push the door open, which is unlocked because, obviously, right? Then...”

Just as he started his next sentence, Mark heard the door creak. Immediately, and without warning, Jack shoved him onto his back. Then, he scrambled over top of him, straddling him, his hands braced on either side of his head. 

Mark was about to scream, _what the fuck!_ when he heard another voice. 

“And anyway—oh, fuck! Jack?”

Mark turned his head, and saw none other than Felix Kjellberg, staring into the room with his girlfriend, he assumed, by his side. Jack made a loud groan, as he shouted back at him, “Dude! We're a little busy, can't you tell? Get out!” 

Felix snickered under his breath. “Didn't know you had it in ya, Jackyboy! Lock the door next time, would you?”

He slammed the door, and when they heard the sound of retreating footsteps, they remained in their positions, immobile. Mark expected Jack to get off of him right away, because he sort of understood now, but now that the crisis was averted, logically he should move. But Jack met his gaze, letting out an uneven breath, and Mark found that he didn't mind. Jack moved one of his hands, and Mark followed it with his eyes, and it almost looked like he was going to brush his cheek, or his hair, or something. He swallowed but said nothing.

_What was going on with him?_

But then Jack stopped, yanking his hand away, as if suddenly in pain. He jumped off of Mark, ran to the door, and locked it. He leaned against it for a moment, forehead pressed to the wood, and he sighed heavily.

Then he turned back, offering him a sheepish smile. “Sorry...about that. I didn't think anyone would bother us, but then again...should've locked the door.” 

Mark sat up slowly, feeling his face heat up. He looked down at the bedding, as Jack continued to ramble, “Also sorry for...ah, you know...getting on....top of you? It's just...Felix would've kicked me out of my own bedroom if he didn't think we were...getting it on, you know? We've been friends for years, the bastard. But he still can't respect my privacy worth a shit.”

He laughed, then, but in an uncomfortable sort of way. Mark watched as he cleared his throat, and perhaps it was the lighting in the room, but he looked a little flushed. 

Jack stayed on the far side of the room, by the door, as if afraid someone would burst through it again. Mark mumbled, “It's...okay. I mean...it felt...kind of nice...”

The words slipped out before he could catch them, and he resisted the overwhelming urge to slap himself. Jack looked stunned, biting down on his lower lip as he slowly came back over, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Oh?” he nearly whispered, trying to sound casual, but Mark could see the perceptive interest in his gaze. 

Mark was not a spontaneous person. His entire night had already been planned from the minute he walked through the door—he was to go in, sit around bored for thirty minutes, then take Wade's keys and leave. There was plenty of Netflix for him to watch in the quiet of his apartment, and some homework to finish up before class tomorrow. 

He was _not_ supposed to be in the house on Warner Hill, in Sean McLoughlin's room, thinking about how much he would really like to kiss him right now. 

God. He didn't even know the guy that well. But there was something... _something_ about him that drew Mark in. Unintentionally, he found himself drawing closer.

Jack had also gotten _immensely_ closer than before. So close in fact, that he could feel the heat radiating from the other. 

“Okay?” Jack whispered. It was a desire, a question—he wanted permission. 

Mark swallowed. “Okay.”

The Irishman leaned forward, tentatively pressing their lips together. It was surprisingly gentle, given Jack's forwardness beforehand. The sensation tickled, but send shivers down his spine. He kissed him a little deeper, easing himself in, but at his response, Jack went straight for it. He moved in closer, crawling over to him until he was nearly in his lap. Mark braced his hands against Jack's shoulders, while the other tangled his fingers in his hair, tugging at the locks gently. He groaned into his mouth, and Jack seemed pleased by the response. 

They kissed until they couldn't breathe. Eventually, Mark broke the kiss, though, panting as Jack was still only centimeters from him. 

“God,” Jack breathed. “That was better than I was hoping.”

“What?” Mark mumbled. “You _planned_ that?”

Jack fell backwards on his bed, laughing as he did so. Apparently his question had been hilarious. “No, no! But I just... _god_ , Mark! I've been crushing on you for years—you really don't think I've imagined kissing you before?”

He stared. “Wait, what? Years? What?”

“Yeah...” Jack trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he sat up again, crossing his legs. “When I first saw you on campus, I thought...never mind that. But the more I heard about you, the more...interested I got. And whenever we did talk—which I know wasn't a lot—you were just so nice and great, and—gah! I wanted to talk to you more, so I kept having all of these parties in hopes that you'd show up...”

He looked a little ashamed of that bit. Mark said, “I hate parties. Why didn't you just...come and talk to me?”

Jack shrugged. “I'm not exactly...the most social of butterflies. Well, I mean, I get along with everyone great. I just tend to get flustered really easily 'round people I like, so...and I didn't know you hated parties! My plan was to have you show up at one, and then we could talk! It's easier to talk to people at parties because you're supposed to mingle. But I'd kind of given up hope 'cause you never did show, but then tonight...”

“So basically what you're telling me,” Mark said. “Is that you've been having all of these parties, just to get my attention? Not knowing that I hated parties and would've never come unless Wade dragged me here? Because you didn't know how to talk to me?”

Jack looked down, his cheeks tinted pink. 

But Mark couldn't help but laugh. God, that was perhaps the cutest thing he'd ever come across in his entire life. He'd gone all of college thinking Sean McLoughlin was a sleek, cool, and confident bad boy, and here he was, instead amazingly energetic and charismatic and quite frankly, adorable. He said as much. Jack only flushed more.

“That's two things I've learned today,” Mark said, finally regaining his composure. He was expecting Jack to be angry at his laughter, but he only seemed enamored with it. “For one thing, that the house on Warner Hill is not, in fact, haunted.”

“I mean, it sort of is,” Jack replied. “Depends on how you look at it. What's the second thing?”

“That you kiss fantastically.”

The smile Jack wore contorted into a mischievous smirk. They locked eyes for a moment, and Jack shifted closer again. “Guilty as charged. But you know, you never did finish telling me about that story of yours.” 

“I didn't?” Mark hummed. “I guess I should, then...”

Mark was surprised by his eagerness for the Irishman's contact again, but Jack didn't seem to care as they resumed their earlier positions, anticipation heavy in his gaze. 

“Where was I?” Mark asked, as Jack cupped his cheeks. “I think I was at--”

Before he could finish, the younger man kissed him firmly on the lips, effectively cutting off his words. When Mark didn't respond right away, Jack pulled back, curiosity in his look. Mark pouted, “I can't tell you the story if you keep kissing me, Jack. Do you wanna hear it or not?”

For a moment, Jack didn't say anything, but then he shook his head, rolling off of him. Instead, he sidled up next to him, their sides pressing together. They sat like that for a few beats, until Jack seemed to realize it was an oddly intimate gesture for two people who had only just shared a kiss and who had hardly shared a word over the course of their four years of college. 

Instead of calling it out, though, Mark just rolled right on talking. “As I was saying, they go into the house and it's covered in cobwebs, and it's absolutely freezing inside, despite it being the middle of spring...”

At some point during the story talk, their fingers ended up intertwined, but neither of them seemed to mind. Mark also didn't mind when he heard Jack snoring, his head on his shoulder.

He glanced at the clock. It was— _fuck_ , a little after one in the morning. He needed to get home. But he didn't want to wake Jack up...

Mark sighed. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headboard. His neck would be killing him in the morning, but he supposed he'd deal with that later.

Their fingers still intertwined, Mark felt a surge of gratefulness that he'd been convinced to come to the house on Warner Hill, and to Jack. For once, he was glad that nothing had gone according to plan. 

And as he drifted off, a new story was forming in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments & Kudos are always appreciated. Thank you!


End file.
